


Under Skin

by devovitsuasartes



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 19:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8765644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devovitsuasartes/pseuds/devovitsuasartes
Summary: 7x10. Unapologetic smut in a van.





	

Mickey slides two cigarettes between his lips and lights them with a battered-looking plastic lighter, cupping his hand around the flame. He takes a short drag, just enough to make sure they're both lit, then he flicks the lighter into the corner of the van and plucks one of the cigarettes out of his mouth, holds it so the lit end is close to his palm, slides it into Ian's slightly open mouth. In the van's dim light, with smoke curling around his face, Mickey's eyes look so very blue, even under his lowered lids. Ian takes a drag from the gifted cigarette and leans back on his elbows, one leg strewn casually across Mickey's.

'You look good,' he says, his voice a little hoarse from the smoke.

Mickey smirks. 'You said that.' But he's looking at Ian just the same, gaze travelling down his body, then back up for a quick glance at Ian's hair, then back to his face. Ian curls his toes, digging them into Mickey's thigh a little, and Mickey shivers almost imperceptibly. He didn't come earlier, and Ian can tell that he's still keyed up.

They sit there for a while in silence, smoking and eyeing each other up. In the close space of the van Ian can smell Mickey. He's unwashed and unperfumed, obviously not having touched deodorant for days, but it's familiar. When they first got together Ian thought Mickey smelled pretty bad and would have to breathe through his mouth whenever they hooked up, but either Mickey started washing more than once a week or Ian must have gotten used to it.

Ian takes the last drag of his cigarette and watches Mickey sweep a hand up over his head, sliding his hat off, scratching his fingers through a mop of greasy black hair. He catches Ian staring and raises his eyebrows, grins slyly, and Ian sits up and kisses him open-mouthed, Mickey's tongue curling behind his teeth with the second-hand smoke, before he withdraws a little to catch and bite at Ian's bottom lip. Ian snatches the last of Mickey's cigarette out of his hand, stubs it out haphazardly into an empty beer can, and maneuvers himself half on top of Mickey, pressing him down into the pile of clothes on the van floor.

Mickey's shivering again, making soft noises in the back of his throat. He's still so turned on. Ian cradles Mickey's head in his hands and settles between his legs, lining them up roughly, rubbing himself against Mickey between two layers of jeans while kissing that sweet spot behind his ear. Mickey presses his lips together and shakes all over.

Suddenly Ian can't stand not touching Mickey's bare skin. He kneels up, reaches back over his shoulders to drag his shirt up and off his head as Mickey fumbles to sit up and pull off his own shirt. As soon as they're both bare Ian is back down, humping Mickey's leg messily and kissing up his neck while Mickey breathes harshly in his ear. When Ian reaches his mouth, he feels Mickey smile. 'What?' he demands.

'You got fucking  _hairy_ ,' Mickey chuckles, glancing down at Ian's torso.

Ian levers himself up and looks down at himself. 'I guess?'

'You were never hairy before.'

'I was a _kid_ before. And I waxed my chest when I was working at the club.'

Mickey scratches his fingers through the curls of hair. 'I like it,' he says quietly.

He gently tweaks one of Ian's nipples and Ian laughs, reaching out to retaliate, pausing when his fingers land on the words **Ian Gallager** in black, shaky letters. The tattoo healed badly; looks pretty fucked up. Ian sweeps his thumb over it and imagines Mickey sitting in his cell with a dirty needle and some ink, gritting his teeth as he painstakingly scratched the letters out. He thinks about leaning down and kissing the tattoo, but it would be such a cliché, so instead he says, 'You added another "L".'

'Wanted it to be right,' Mickey mutters.

Ian decides not to tell Mickey that Gallagher has an "H" in it as well.

'So is it my turn or what?' Mickey asks roughly, but with a grin, jostling Ian back into action. Ian laughs and kneels up again, unbuttons Mickey's jeans, drags them halfway down his thighs. Mickey's dick is hard and sticky, slapping up against his belly as soon as it's freed from the confines of his clothes. His jeans leave a trail of precum down the front of his leg, and his foot jerks involuntarily when Ian wraps a hand around his cock. Poor Mickey. It had been too rough and dry for him earlier, and Ian hadn't managed to get very far inside him. Aching in sympathy, Ian lowers his head.

Mickey catches him by the chin. 'No, no, just get up here and kiss me,' he pants, wrapping his hand around Ian's for a firmer grasp on his cock. Ian obliges, lying along Mickey's side, kissing him on the mouth and working his cock gently. Mickey used to be self-conscious about it, didn't like Ian looking at it or touching it, but Ian thinks it's perfect. When it's fully hard like this it fits snugly in his hand, the head just peeking out over his thumb and forefinger, his little finger pressed against the base. Ian pulls Mickey's foreskin up, works it around the head with a twist, builds a steady rhythm that he knows Mickey likes - kissing him on the mouth, the jaw, biting his earlobe.

Mickey's breath comes in harsh gasps. He grabs Ian's bicep on the arm that's working to bring him off. Ian rubs his cheek over Mickey's and mutters in his ear, over and over, 'Come on, come on...' Mickey breathes faster and faster and then he lets out a small, helpless, high-pitched moan before falling silent, his hips rigid. Ian looks down hurriedly, sees come falling in bursts on Mickey's bare stomach. 'Yeah, yeah, that's it,' Ian whispers nonsensically and Mickey shudders and moans, still thrusting haphazardly into Ian's hand for a few more moments until eventually he runs out of steam. Ian lets go, wipes his hand on Mickey's jeans.

'God _damn_ , Gallagher,' Mickey pants at last, tucking his stubbly chin into his chest so he can look down and admire the mess.

'Worth breaking out of prison for?' Ian murmurs in his ear.

'Breaking out of prison is its own reward,' Mickey retorts, grabbing a nearby shirt and wiping himself down. Ian snorts and elbows him in the ribs, laying down on his back next to Mickey, staring up at the ceiling of the van. His dick is hard inside his jeans and his heart is pounding. This is crazy. It's fucking crazy. Mickey is fucking crazy, and Ian is crazy for being here.

'Hey, Mickey says. Ian rolls his head over to look at him. Their noses are nearly touching. 'You wanna fuck me again?' Mickey asks.

Ian laughs, caught by surprise. 'Already?'

'Soon. I gotta finger myself a little first.' Without waiting for Ian's assent, Mickey draws his knees up, his feet flat on the floor, and reaches down between his legs. His eyes half-close lazily.

Ian watches the tendons move on the back of Mickey's hand for a while. His jeans are still unbuttoned, unzipped and he drags them off, watching Mickey's hand the whole time. Mickey pauses, sits up on his elbow, brings up the hand he's been working himself with and spits messily into the palm, resumes.

'You got a condom?' Ian asks, stroking his dick lightly, just enough to get a little relief.

Mickey snorts. 'They probably have posters of me in CVS,' he says, by way of response.

Ian had only had one condom in his wallet, and he'd used it the first time. He hesitates. Mickey's been in prison, and even if he did nothing else, Ian knows he used a dirty needle to tattoo his chest. They've only ever done it without a condom a couple of times, and at least then they had the excuse of being idiot kids. Ian has seen the statistics, knows the risks, knows how stupid this is. Mickey doesn't offer any reassurance; just grunts softly as he works his fingers inside himself.

This is a stupid idea. But coming here in the first place was a stupid idea. Ian runs his fingers over the back of Mickey's busily working hand, squeezes the spongy flesh of his cock, rubs his thumb over the head and inside the foreskin where Mickey is still wet. Feels him starting to stir again feebly.

'So are you gonna fuck me or am I lying here with my hand up my ass for nothing?' Mickey interjects suddenly, with all of his usual charm. He flashes Ian a full, wicked grin as Ian snarls playfully, flips Mickey's legs over his shoulders and rushes in to kiss him, biting at his lips. Mickey grimaces, mutters something about his back, and Ian obligingly rearranges his legs until they're wrapped around his back and ass. Ian breaks from kissing Mickey to look down between them, line himself up, push in.

Oh. _Oh_. Ian knows all the speeches about why safe sex is important, has given a few of them himself, but there's no dire warning or upbeat pep talk in the world that can hold its own against the feeling of fucking Mickey bareback. It's better than any drug that Ian's ever taken. It's just him and Mickey with nothing in between and Mickey is hot and tight, soft inside, clenching. This is so fucking reckless. God only knows what Mickey could be carrying. Ian grabs his shoulder, wraps a hand around the small of his back, lifts him up a little. Mickey is still compact, but his body is hard with muscle where it used to be kind of soft. He reaches up, braces himself against something, his bicep flexing as he pushes back into Ian with a grunt.

'What are you waiting for?' Mickey snaps, a challenge, his eyes blue and his gaze sharp. Ian starts rocking his hips, quickly losing it at the way it feels, and before he knows it he's pounding Mickey roughly, making the whole van rock on its wheels.

Ian is lost in the stupidity of what they're doing, how crazy it is, how wrong. He forgets to hold back, fucks Mickey as hard and as fast as his hips will move, shoving one of Mickey's legs back up over his shoulder to get a better angle, wanting Mickey to feel every fucking inch. Mickey's eyes are shut tight but his mouth is open and wet and red. Ian leans in and licks Mickey's lips, bites them, feels the scratch of Mickey's filthy nails down his back, his nose filled with the tang of Mickey's unwashed armpits, and Ian realizes that he's about to come half a second before it happens, feeling the hot rush of his release around the head of his cock. Mickey's lips twist into a snarl and he digs the heel of his foot into Ian's ass crack, holding him deep.

Ian's shaking by the time it's over, feels like he's been flayed alive and left exposed. After a few seconds he moves to pull out, but Mickey grabs his ass with one hand and reaches between them with the other. 'Just stay there a sec,' he grunts. 'I'm almost done.'

Mickey's knuckles knock roughly against Ian's stomach as he jerks himself, and while Ian's cock is still mostly hard he feels Mickey clench tight around him, his hand stilling, giving a couple more swift jerks, pausing again. Mickey is completely silent when he comes, save for the harsh drag of his breath in Ian's ear. When he's sure Mickey is done, Ian pulls out but stays on top of him. His mouth is pressed against Mickey's shoulder. His mind is spinning wildly.

'Fuck, I'm thirsty,' Mickey exclaims hoarsely. He reaches into a nearby bag, pulls out a can of beer, snaps it open and sits up to take a long pull. 'Fuck,' he says again, when he finally comes up for air. He offers the can to Ian, who spares a thought for his meds and then realizes that he's forgotten to take them. He takes the can, wets his parched throat, finishes the beer. Some of it spills over his chin.

Mickey slings one arm behind his head, his legs sprawled out lazily. He wraps his other arm around Ian's shoulder, and Ian obligingly curls into his side. He closes his eyes, brushing his eyelashes over Mickey's cheek.

'Fuck,' Mickey says again, scratching his fingers idly through Ian's hair. He snorts deep, gives a hacking cough that brings up phlegm, turns his head away and spits it onto the wall of the van. His breath really stinks.

Ian dips his fingers in the sticky, drying come on Mickey's belly. 'What the fuck am I doing here, Mick?' he asks quietly. 

Mickey doesn't even flinch, just carries on petting Ian's damp head. 'Maybe I got under your skin too,' he suggests.

Before too long the cooling sweat on their skin makes them shiver, and they put their clothes back on. Ian pulls a blanket over them, curls up against Mickey's back, wraps an arm around him, kisses the back of his neck. Mickey is already asleep.


End file.
